


A Bit Wild

by daniko



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Family Drama, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniko/pseuds/daniko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“The witch-king of old Angmar wanted one of our treasures. When he failed to get it, he put a curse on the line of Durin, condemning us to succumb to our own bloodlust and cruelty. But we have not fallen and we have become stronger for it.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeza_red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeza_red/gifts).



> Written for The Hobbit Holidays Exchange 2013.
>
>> Happy Holidays, jeza-red! It was not as trope oriented as you perhaps expected, but hopefully it will “sweeten all the pain Desolation will bring about.” Enjoy! ♥
> 
> Unbeta'd, but thoroughly edited.

**I. Hobbiton**

In old Arnor, in the land of the Shire, there was a little village called Hobbiton. It was a quaint mesh of dirt roads and marble plazzas; clean and wholesome. Its inhabitants were dear little people, who valued good food, good music and comfortable homes above all things; and since Unexpected Things were not very comfortable, they were, therefore, Not Welcome. 

Unexpected Things hardly ever happened in Hobbiton and not since Belladonna Took married Bungo Baggins. 

Belladonna herself was one of those Unexpected Things and Bungo's relations did much try to warn him, but he paid them no heed; which creature does, when they fancy themselves in love? 

They listen even less when there is indeed love to be returned! 

In the end, Bungo married Belladonna and they had a little boy, whom they called Bilbo. It soon became apparent that Bilbo had inherited Belladonna's Unexpectedness—arriving in the world two weeks before he was expected, imagine! And while even the most strict of Hobbiton's men and women could not blame Bilbo for his own birth – perhaps they could blame Bella? – when the child started to disappear for hours on end to go hunting fairies, well! Not much one could say to deny the obvious. 

Bungo tried to raise the child to be Very Much Expected, but Belladonna and Bilbo's Unexpectedness spoke louder and, onde day, Bungo woke to find both gone. How very Unexpected. Bungo reacted Expectedly, of course; he mourned, but did so from the comfort of his little home. 

And Life went on in Hobbiton, in the land of the Shire. 

Until some years later, on the day when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appeared in the sky together. 

This man was a bit on the short side and had honey-coloured hair, a wine-coloured cape around his shoulders and pulled along an ill-tempered child by the hand (also wearing a cape, this one in the bluest shade of blue). Not a single person moved to greet this Unexpected Stranger as he crossed Bagshot Row and carried on towards Bag End. That would have been altogether Unexpected. Hamfast Gamgee peaked at the odd duo through his bushes, purely in the interests of the late Master Baggins, of course, and that was when he noticed a remarkable similarity between this man and the long lost son of the late Master Baggins. Master Gamgee then decided that perhaps he ought to mind his own business and wait to see what would happen, although he did sent a message to the Tháin. Just in case. 

The Tháin, upon hearing the news, frowned thoughtfully and decided to visit Bag End. Just in case. 

“How can I help you?” asked the Stranger, when the Tháin knocked on the door of Bag End. 

This Stranger was now wearing a quaint little apron and had a speck of dust on his left cheek, all very Expected for someone who was in the process of moving in; but, you see, the Tháin was not just any Tháin. His name was Fortinbras Took and he was a distant Uncle of Belladona Baggins, though he had never got to know the girl properly. Being a Took meant he was not as bothered by Unexpected Things as his fellow Hobbitees, but he was old and weary of many years minding the safety of people in the Shire and did not appreciate disturbances in this village. Being a Took just meant he took no issue in checking in Unexpectedly with the new neighbour. 

“Good morning, my good man!” he exclaimed. “I am the Tháin of Hobbiton, Fortinbras Took, and I expect it is my duty to make sure any new neighbours are settling in all right.” 

The Stranger narrowed his eyes. “How very Unexpected,” he said, “as it hasn't even passed half a day since I arrived. My mother did mention how fast word travels in Hobbiton, but it would only have been polite to give us time to unpack.” 

The Tháin ignored the not so subtle repproach. “And who is your mother, if I may ask?” 

“Belladonna Took; or Baggins, according to the laws of Hobbiton.” 

“Ah!” said the Tháin. Considering the bitterness in the young man's words, the Tháin thought, not for the first time, that perhaps they ought to have warned Belladonna about the perils of marriage, instead of Bungo. Belladonna had been so very young at the time, and so was the young man in front of the Tháin, who reminded him so much of his spirited niece. “That would make you Bilbo Baggins.” 

“It would,” said Bilbo curtly and that was the end of it. 

The Tháin made a little more conversation, offered his services if Bilbo ever needed them, asked how long Bilbo would be staying and left, content in the knowledge that his niece had raised the boy to be just as haughty and Expected as his family name required. The Tháin felt he could safely reassure any concerned parties that there would be no trouble coming from Bag End. (Though he was not looking forward to tell Lobelia Sackville-Baggins that Bag End was no longer waiting for her.) 

The Tháin was proven to be mostly right. 

At first, Master Baggins kept to Bag End. 

The first thing he did was to hire Hamfast Gamgee as a groundskeeper. Then he sent for a massive door from Bree and poor Hamfast had to carry it all the way through the East Road and Bywater in his tremulous wheelbarrow, though he was paid handsomely for it and also gained a good story to tell at the Green Dragon. “It said 'Made in Dale', it did,” said Hamfast over a pint of ale. “If you can fancy going so far a way for a door, even one of Nomad make!” Which, of course, only served the purpose of thickening the mistery around the Bagginses of Bag End. 

Often you could see Bilbo Baggins and his child tending to the garden in early afternoon, wearing big straw hats and white frocks. Master Baggins' tomatoes would be winning prizes next season if he had a mind to enter the competition. In early morning and late afternoon, wonderful smells drifted from Bag End and, on Sundays, Master Baggins and the child went to Bywater Market to sell baked goods that had already won over the children of Hobbiton. (Not that Master Baggins was particularly fond of children. In fact, often he could be seen chasing babes sporting sugary whiskers away from his garden.) 

Unfortunately, Primula Brandybuck decided she would know about more about her Unexpected cousin. She had admired her cousin Belladonna – though no one knew very well how Belladonna and Primula were related and no one dared ask Primula, not in her state of grace – and she had more than half a mind to meet Master Baggins. Thus why she was seen walking over Master Baggins' stand almost every Sunday for a spot of conversation and some sweets. 

“Good morning to you, Master Baggins! Flower?” asked Primula on one such Sunday, taking a daisy from the little basket dangling from her elbow. 

Master Baggins accepted. “It shall look lovely on my buttonhole, Mrs Baggins!” he said. “If I may ask, how long until you are due?” 

Primula smiled, stroking her extended belly. “It would be late September before little Frodo is with us.” 

“I myself was born in late September. Is it a boy, then?” 

Primula bristled. “You are not going to mock me like Drogo, are you? A mother always knows!” 

Bilbo giggled. “No, no, I defer to you wisdom, my dear.” He took bit of fruitcake and offered it to her inside a folded a napkin. “Here, have a sweet. It does wonders for one's mood.” 

“Hmph, thank you! I actually came around to take half a dozen of your oatmeal cookies, Master Baggins. We have a town's meeting today and little Frodo and I always get hungry.” Master Baggins offered her a small box with a pink bow and they exchanged a few coins. Primula took her purchase and started to move away, when a short, stocky child almost ran her over. 

“Kili!” exclaimed Master Baggins. “Be careful with Mrs Baggins!” 

“Ugh!” The child skipped to a stop. He took a white rose from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here, ma'am! I'm sorry,” he offered, before running over to Master Baggins' side. “Can I have some cookies for my friends, Uncle? We are going to the river and I promised I'd bring a snack! Samwise is going to take some of his ma's apple juice and Merry promised some cheese and I have to take something too!” 

Master Baggins rolled his eyes and bent over to pick up a basket from underneath the bakery stand. “There you go. I also added sweet bread, napkins and cutlery.” Kili shrieked and squeezed Master Baggins around the waist, then took the basket and made a move to dash down the road. He would have been gone already, if only Master Baggins had not grabbed him by the shirt. “Behave and be home by dusk, understood?” 

“Yes, yes!” laughed Kili, trying to get free. When he finally succedeed, he ran away, shouting, “See you later, Uncle! Bye, Mrs Baggins!” 

“And you are forbidden from stealing roses from Mrs Gamgee, you hear?” shouted Master Baggins, but Kili seemed to wave him off. Master Baggins sighed. 

Primula sniffed. “A bit wild, isn't he? We hardly ever see him in town . . . .” 

Master Baggins startled, glancing at her in surprise. “Wildness is a family trait, my dear.” 

“Oh?” asked Primula, curiously. “If I may be a bit bold—,” Master Baggins waved off her concerns with a good-natured smile, “—I was under the impression Kili was not yours.” 

Master Baggings smiled. “Indeed, not by blood. I found him abandoned during my travels. I think his parents might have belonged to a tribe of nomads such as those who travel from Ered Luin.” 

Primula looked horrified. “They have lost him so far away?” 

Master Baggins hesitated. “No, my dear, but perhaps I ought to say no more.” 

“Yes, you must!” protested Primula. “I will only conjure the most horrifying scenarios if you don't!” 

“Well,” said Master Baggins. He fiddled with his pocket handkerchief. “These tribes live a very hard life. There is a lot of prejudice, so food is scarce and money doesn't come easily. Often,” he hesitated, “often they cannot aford to travel with a sickly child or someone handicapped.” 

Tears came to Primula's eyes. “They left him. Just like that?” 

Master Baggins patted her hand and offered her his beautiful embroidered handkerchief, which she took gratefully. “I imagine so. I stayed in Esgaroth, far to the East, for a whole fortnight, searching for his family, but they never showed up. I could not leave him there. No child should have to beg for food and care, but the villagers believed his race was cursed and would not take him in.” 

“How barbarian!” exclaimed Primula. “My Frodo will never know what it is to want for something,” she told Master Baggins quite fiercely. “And neither will your Kili. From now on, he is part Baggins, part Took and also part Brandybuck. I shall be his godmother,” she declared solemnly. Seeing as Master Baggins tried to protest, she hastily interrupted, “No—no, Master Baggins. And you shall be Frodo's godfather and I will tell Fortinbras and Rorimac all about it, you have my word. And that is that!” 

“You are a good woman, Primula, far better than someone your age should care to be.” 

Primula blushed a deep shade of red and offered Master Baggins a hand, which he took. “If people valued family and friendship above all things, the world would be a wonderful place.” 

Master Baggins smiled. “How wise, Mrs Baggins.” 

Primula giggled, but she made good of her word only a few days later. 

By the time the anniversary of Bilbo and Kili's arrival in Hobbiton approached, they had both been adopted, or re-adopted if it was the case, by the large families of the Shire: the Tooks, the Brandybucks and even some Bagginses. (Though, really; Bilbo was what you would call the Head of the Baggins family and it was somewhat irksome that he must try to appease their sensibilities!) Most people didn't even mind the mystery of Kili's heritage – or even his race. 

Soon, there were parties, sleepovers, gifts given and gifts received, friends with whom to visit the Market or travel to Bree or Michel Delving; there was song and laughter and steady flow of costumers for Bilbo's baked goods; there were even a few matchmaking attempts, Bilbo being the object of it and, sometimes, the subject – Samwise was sweet on Rosie and Bilbo simply had to try doing something about it! 

It felt a bit like coming home; and, if Bilbo occasionally dreamt of faraway kingdoms, dastardly goblins and evil dragons, of beautiful roads, fierce Eagles and the Fair Folk east of the sea, of good song and good company, of a people with meaning for Kili, well! He was his mother's son and the pull of the Road was not an easy one to ignore; but as he aged, Bilbo had realised he did not want to always be searching for something like Belladonna or force Kili into the same pattern, so he stayed at home, where perhaps his mother ought to have left him after all. 

**II. Nomads from Ered Luin**

On the day when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appeared in the sky together – even though the people of Hobbiton knew it only as the anniversary of Master Baggins' return to the Shire – Life in Hobbiton changed yet again. 

The day arrived beautifully, not a clound in the sky. 

Bilbo woke up early as it was his costum and, also as was costum, had to drag Kili off his bed so they could get ready and go to Bywater Market to sell whatever sweets and baked goods Bilbo had made the previous night. It wasn't that they were struggling to make ends meet, as Bungo had left Bilbo a considerable amount of wealth, but Bilbo wished to keep himself busy with something he liked and, while Kili complained all the way through Bagshot Row, Bilbo was more than used to ignore his sulking and kept him quiet with chocolate cookies. 

Then, as it was also their habit, Bilbo set up the bakery stand while Kili wandered off to the fountain, and that was Bilbo saw it: a child's face peeking into the baskets of sweets. 

It was a stocky, short boy, much like Kili; but this boy had a thick mane of golden hair and a round nose, broader and bigger than Kili's. Beatiful brown eyes and the look of someone who knew not to ask for things that would not be given. Bilbo's soul twinged in sympathy. “Hello!” he greeted cheerfully. “Do you want something? The first sweet is usually free of charge!” 

The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?” 

Bilbo shrugged. “Well! If I give a costumer a cookie and they like it, they might buy some.” 

The boy sighed. “I won't, though. Uncle says there are more important things than sweets.” 

“Well, you still get your free first cookie,” Bilbo said, putting some of Kili's chocolate cookies in a napkin and offering it to the boy, who hesitated, but finally took the offer. 

“Thanks!” 

“You are quite welcome! What is your name?” 

“You can call me Fili.” 

“Really? Well,” Bilbo gestured towards his wayward nephew, who was trying to catch the fish, “that precious idiot over there is Kili.” 

“That is a Nomad name,” said Fili. “Uncle hates when regular folk use Nomad names.” 

Bilbo bristled. “Well, that's the name his parents gave him.” 

“Oh, he's not your son, then?” 

“He is now,” said Bilbo. Fili nodded resolutely, as if he understood what Bilbo was saying. “What about you, where is you family?” asked Bilbo, finally taking a good look at the boy. Fili was dressed in cotton and leather and had his hair tied back with a metal hairclip. It didn't take a lot of wits to realise he was of Nomad descent, even if he hadn't spoken of Nomad ways. 

It was then that Primula ran to Bilbo, the bundle of clothes Bilbo knew to be Frodo clutched carefully in her arms. “Bilbo! Have you heard?” 

Bilbo, being no stanger to the ways of Hobbiton, could easily guess what Primula had just found out. “I'm sure I haven't, but Fili here might,” said Bilbo, gesturing towards the boy munching leisurely on his cookies. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Primula, flushing. She clutched Frodo a little tighter. “Yes, he might have. A caravan of nomads arrived early this morning through the East Road and have set up camp near Bywater Pool. Was that your family, dear?” she asked Fili. 

Fili nodded, now looking a bit worried. “I should probably get back before Uncle wakes up.” 

Bilbo could easily imagine Kili saying the exact same thing to someone else. He sighed. “Fili, have you sneaked away?” 

Fili flushed in embarrassment. “I might have.” 

Then, as if on cue, “ _FILI_! YOU BLOODY ELF, IF I DIDN'T KNOW YER DA AND YER MA MESELF, I'D SWEAR YOU WERE OF GOBLIN MAKE!” 

Bilbo and Primula exchanged a horrified glance as a bald man with almost twice Bilbo's width in muscle, and more than half a head in height, rushed down the road in their direction. He wore clothes made of leather and an overcoat of fur for warmth, but what immediately caught one's attention was the jingling sound that followed as his weapons moved ominously with his gait. Bilbo had no doubt the Tháin would be informed about him within the minute. Fili, who looked at most extremely put upon, stayed admirably still as the brute of a nomad reached the bakery stand and picked him up by the collar. “Mister Dwalin,” he grumbled petulantly, crossing his chubby arms over his chest. 

The huge man shook him up. “Ye got any idea how worried Thorin is, you bloody idiot?” Now Fili looked a little worried, which in turn made Bilbo want to smack Mister Dwalin in the face. (Though he would wait until Fili looked in immediate danger, which hopefully wouldn't happen!) “Yer uncle thought he had lost another one, ye can't do this to him, boy!” Fili 's eyes started to well up, which seemed to affect the man called Dwalin in some way, because he picked the boy properly and ruffled his hair. “Ach! Don't cry, princeling! We shall ask Balin to make it right, ay?” 

“ _Fili_!” cried another man, rushing down the road. 

Dwalin groaned in frustration. “Ach, the dimwit followed me, of course!” he grumbled, looking gratified when Fili's sob turned into a giggle. Bilbo's consideraton of him improved ten-fold. 

This second man was shorter than the first, if it were relevant for one to say an oak tree was shorter than a pine tree. He wore blue leather, though he didn't seem to have any weapons on him, only a few blacksmith tools hung on his belt; and he had long black hair, with a bit of silver at the temples, caught in single braid that fell down his back. He grabbed Fili and crushed him against his massive chest, squeezing him tight. “Words shall be had later, child, many words!” 

After a moment, he shifted Fili, so he could spare a dismissive once-over at the audience. “Who are you?” “I beg your pardon!” Bilbo bristled at the rudeness and was somewhat gratified to hear Dwalin's groan of exasperation. It was as he suspected: rudeness was particular of this brute, who Bilbo guessed was Fili's Uncle, and not of the race. Primula pulled at his sleeve in warning, but Bilbo would not be deterred. “It is only polite to offer your own name, before asking for someone else's.” 

The man's already solemn expression became stonier. “I shall offer you my name when you deserve it, halfling! What were you doing with my nephew?” 

Bilbo's pursed his lips in annoyance. “Giving him breakfast, if you must know!” 

Something dark passed the man's eyes and he took an ominous step towards Bilbo. “We do not require your—,” he gritted out, before Fili spoke up urgently. 

“You get your first cookie for free, Uncle! If you like it, then you can buy some more. But you don't have to!” he added in a rush. 

The nomad glanced down at Fili, then sighed wearily. He said to Bilbo, “I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin. How much for a dozen of those cookies?” he asked, pointing towards the oatmeal cookies, the ones with chocolate chips. 

Bilbo didn't think they had a lot of money to spare, but he could also guess that Thorin would make the sacrifice for his nephew and Dwalin would gladly go hungry if it meant Fili would get a sweet. Just like his mother, Bilbo could never resist a display of family bonds. “Er, usually six silver coins—oh, no! How rude of me!” Bilbo blushed profusely at his own oversight. “I am Bilbo Baggins, at your service!” Thorin Oakenshield looked like he didn't know what to make of Bilbo. Well! Bilbo could certainly relate, as he didn't know what to make of himself! He ended up saying, “My apologies, Master Oakenshield, but you and your family have travelled from Ered Luin, have you not?” 

It was clearly a mistake, as Master Oakenshield's expression became suddenly cold. “What of it?” 

Bilbo stammered, not wanting to offend, “Er, I have a door!” 

Master Oakenshield frowned. “So do I.” 

It took Bilbo a moment to understand and then he wished the ground would swallow him up. Had he sincerely lost any ability to talk sensibly? “No! I mean, I am sure you do, what I meant is,” he took a breath, “I have a door that was made in Dale, where your people once lived, and the lock is broken, so I asked a Hobbiton blacksmith to have a look at it, but he didn't do a very good job—not even a passable job, to be perfectly honest—so I was wondering if you would take a look at it and I shall deduct six silver coins from whatever it is you usually charge. If you are available, of c—.” 

Bilbo frowned as he was suddenly interrupted by a honking guffaw. It was Mister Dwalin. “Ach, he's _available_ , all right! As long as you don't expect many pleasantries!” he said, pointedly ignoring Master Oakenshield's glare. 

“Oh, are you even a blacksmith? I assumed from the tools you have—.” 

“I am a one,” Master Oakenshield declared. Obviously, there was something else to it, but Bilbo decided not to worry about it. “When do you wish me to take a look at it?” 

“Er, whenever you wish!” Bilbo hastily said. “I will be here all morning, but perhaps at mid-afternoon? I live in Bag End, Under the Hill, ask anyone and they'll point you in the right direction!” 

*** 

Thorin Oakenshield was somehow more frightening out of his heavy coat. 

“Er, hello!” exclaimed Bilbo when Master Oakenshield showed up at the doorstep of Bag End, wearing a white work shirt and a wollen blue cardigan on top. Master Oakenshield cut an impressive figure for a blacksmith, Bilbo thought, but what he said was, “This is the door actually!” pointing at the green door he had ordered from Dale. He tinkered with the lock. “As you see, it doesn't shut properly. It's not exactly a concern in Hobbiton, but—.” 

“Nonsense;” declared Master Oakenshield, rudely interrupting Bilbo. “Tis always a concern not to feel safe in one's home. I shall have to remove the door while I work, but it should only take a few hours.” 

Bilbo nodded, having already expected that. “I'll ask Hamfast to lend a hand,” he said, turning away from Master Oakenshield's thorough inspection of the hinges to go call on Master Gamgee. 

Bilbo had to stop abruptly, however, at the sudden noise coming from Bag End. He turned to see that Master Oakenshield had single-handedly lift the door from its hinges and was carrying it towards—Bilbo felt himself go a bit light-headed, both at the inhuman display of strength (and muscle) and at the direction of Master Oakenshield's path. 

He hurried along, rushing to say, “Please, do be careful with my tomat— _oh, dear_ ,” he finished faintly. 

“Yes?” Master Oakenshield turned to look inquisitively at Bilbo, who could only guess what was on his face. “Master Baggins?” he asked worriedly. 

Bilbo felt himself flush in anger. “My prized tomatoes, you bloody oaf!” Master Oakenshield blinked in surprise, then became very red in the face. “They took me an age to grow and you decide to land my door on them?” 

Master Oakenshield's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively, in a gesture than reminded Bilbo of Fili – and oddly of Kili, too. “Well, you should have put up a warning sign as I am no seer, Master Baggins!” 

“There was one!” Bilbo exclaimed, gesturing wildly at his wire fence, which Master Oakenshield had so carelessly trampled down. 

Master Oakenshield snorted. “And who was that supposed to keep out? Small animals?” 

“Yes!” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, quite,” said Bilbo, who was quite done with this bloody nomad. He would have demanded Master Oakenshield to put the door in its place and leave, immediately, had the nomad not fidgeted with the strings on his shirt, looking regretful for the half a second it took him to school his expression into blankness. It was a very endearing gesture, Bilbo thought grumpily. He ended up saying, “I guess you shall have to return tomorrow to fix my fence, then; and I shan't pay you a single coin.” 

Master Oakenshield blinked – and Bilbo tried not to register all the ways in which Master Oakenshield could be surprised, for a man who looked so worldly. “It seems we have an aggreement, Master Baggins,” said Master Oakenshield, holding out a big hand, which dwarved Bilbo's own when they sealed the deal. 

Suddenly glad he had asked Primula to mind Kili for the afternoon, Bilbo went back inside and pretended not to watch through the window as Master Oakenshield worked to fix Bilbo's door. He especially tried not to notice how thin and sheer Master Oakenshield's shirt was, when he took off his wollen cardigan and started hammering on Bilbo's door. Bilbo didn't think he was quite sucessful, going by the smirk gracing Master Oakenshield's face each time he caught Bilbo's eye. 

It was early evening, and therefore almost time to go pick up Kili, when Bilbo left the house with an old straw basket. 

Master Oakenshield was in the process of setting the door upright, so Bilbo waited until he had it back on the doorway of Bag End. There was not a single scratch in sight, not even those left from Hobbiton's blacksmith. Bilbo was very impressed and he had to say so. “What an excellent work, Master Oakenshield!” He didn't think he was imagining that Master Oakenshield preened a bit at the praise. 

“Tis only fair that you get your money's worth.” 

Figuring the hint for what it was, Bilbo made a show of remembering his word, “Which reminds me!” He took his velvet pouch from his overcoat's pocket and counted the fifty silver coins Master Oakenshield had named as his price. He handed those over and was not the least bit surprised when Master Oakenshield counted six of them and handed them back. “Of course, how silly of me,” Bilbo said, but he was smiling. Master Oakenshield smiled back. “I also prepared some supper for you, Fili and Master Dwalin.” 

Master Oakenshield frowned at the basket. “That was not in our agreement.” 

Bilbo blushed, searching for an excuse, but then decided to be honest. “It wasn't, but fifty coins hardly seemed a fair price for my own nephew's safety. I suppose my travels have left me a bit wary of the world, more than my fellow Hobbitees.” 

That was something Master Oakenshield seemed to understand, because he nodded and accepted the basket. “You have my thanks, Master Baggins.” 

“And you have mine, Master Oakenshield.” Then, in a foolish attempt at stretching the moment, Bilbo asked, “Is Fili in a lot of trouble for having sneaked away?” 

Master Oakenshield let out an exasperated sigh. “Fili knows not to do that, but he's restless. I have put him with Dwalin in sword-making, which he hates,” Master Oakenshield grinned mischievously, “as do I. Therefore, Dwalin gets the help he needs and I don't have to do it.” 

Bilbo was startled into laughter. “It is not heavy work, I take it?” 

“Nope, just boorish,” he replied, which made Bilbo snicker. 

In that moment, darkness fell over them as the sun went down behind the Hill. 

Master Oakenshield put on his cardigan and picked up the basket. “I shall see you tomorrow, Master Baggins,” he said, before heading down the road and turning left towards Master Gamgee's property. Bilbo sighed. 

“Your way is in the opposite direction!” he called after Master Oakenshield and he fancied he could feel Master Oakenshield's embarrassment as hurried in the right way. Feeling in better spirits than he had in a long time, Bilbo went inside to get a box of cookies for Primula and headed for Brandy Hall. 

For the first time since his return, Bilbo didn't feel the pull towards the East Road as he crossed it. 

The following day, Master Oakenshield showed up in mid-afternoon to fix Bilbo's fence and did a far better job than a simple farmer's fence deserved. 

Bilbo didn't try to pay him, but sent him off with supper, like before, and a request to show up the next day to help Bilbo fixing his mother's old rocking chair. After that, it was replacing the glass in Bilbo's windows and fixing some of Kili's old toys from Dale; it was chopping wood for the winter and fixing a few dents in Bilbo's silverware. No job was too big or too small for Master Oakenshield and Bilbo would gladly pay him for his services if he could enjoy a bit more of his company. (Not that he would ever say so!) 

In their afternoons together, Bilbo learned a bit more about the Nomad ways in naming ceremonies, funerals and marriages. He learned that Master Oakenshield had a living sister – Fili's Ma – who was grieving the loss of her husband and youngest son; that Master Oakenshield himself was grieving the loss of a brother. He leaned that the nomads of Ered Luin had come far from Dale, because their home had been suddenly taken by the wicked servant of Evil . . . and he rather thought he had taught some things in return. 

There was also a subtle undercurrent of affection in their afternoons together, which made Bilbo's heart soar and his stomach plummet to the depths of the Earth everytime he exchanged glances with Master Oakenshield's beautiful blue eyes. Master Oakenshield said nothing about it and Bilbo decided it was perhaps not yet the time to bring up the deepening of their friendship . . . but he saw no reason to stop enjoying the exchange of looks and fleeting touches during their time together. 

It was in a cold day just before Yule that Bilbo learned something in particular about Master Oakenshield's family. 

Master Oakenshield was building a bench to replace the one at the end of Bilbo's property, when an old man appeared at the end of the road. He was very tall – taller than anyone of Bilbo's acquaintance – and oddly familiar, as were many of the things Bilbo recalled from his travelling days with Belladonna. He left Thorin to work and walked to his gate as the man approached. “Good afternoon!” said Bilbo. 

The man's eyebrows twitched. “What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good afternoon, or do you mean it is a good afternoon whether I want it or not? Or perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular afternoon? Or are you simply stating that this an afternoon to be good on?” 

Master Oakenshield snorted audibly, but Bilbo paid him no mind. “All of them at once, I suppose. Er—can I help you?” 

“That remains to be seen.” 

“Why don't stop with the riddles, wizard, and state your business?” grumbled Master Oakenshield. 

Before Bilbo could admonish him for the rudeness, the wizard snapped, “You missed our meeting Thorin Oakenshield!” 

“I did so, because I do not wish to hear what you have to say. I have a nephew and my sister to think about, I cannot—.” 

“They would be cared for in Rivendell.” 

Master Oakenshield snorted. “What about my father, Gandalf? Would Lord Elrond take Thráin under his roof when he has succumbed to the curse of our line? Would Lord Elrond search for him like we must?” Gandalf said nothing. “I didn't think so! Whatever else the world might think, we take care of our own and my father shall not be abandoned to his fate.” 

Unable to stop himself, Bilbo made a small noise and Master Oakenshield heard. “What, halfling? You also believe it, do you not? That we are wild men, who leave our injured and old behind?” he demanded. “For as long as I have breath in my body, our old shall be respected until the day they die and our young shall be treasured, our women valued and their voices never silenced!” He gave both Bilbo and Gandalf a dismissive glance, as he picked up his cardigan and tools. “The same cannot be said about your races and you dare to call us barbarians!” So saying, he turned around and rushed down the road. 

Gandalf made a frustrated noise. “Tell him I will be back by Spring,” he demanded rudely, before following Master Oakenshield's example and leaving Bilbo standing alone in his garden. 

Later than evening – after Bilbo got Kili from Brandy Hall and left Primula in her home, had supper and put Kili to bed – there was a voice at his door, followed by a sharp knock. 

It was Mister Dwalin and Master Oakenshield. 

“ 'Tried to stop this foolish halfwit, but he wished to speak with ye,” said Mister Dwalin. 

“I never asked you to follow me,” grumbled Thorin, with an impressive similarity to Fili. 

“Ye spent half yer afternoon wandering about 'til ye found us,” Mister Dwalin pointed out and Master Oakenshield's ears turned pink. “What do ye think would happen in the dark of night, ay? And good evening to you both,” he added, halfway down the road. 

“I'm still the king,” shouted Master Oakenshield after him and Bilbo snickered. 

His good humour was short-lived, however, as Master Oakenshield's expression crumbled and he nodded slightly towards the inside of Bag End. “May I come in?” 

“Of course!” Bilbo rushed to say. “I'll put the kettle on.” 

Once they were sat by the fire, each with a cup of tea – though Bilbo suspected Master Oakenshield's would reman untouched – he said, “I did not expect you back so soon. Or at all, really,” he added, gamely attempting to be humourous, despite the fact he had felt Master Oakenshield's absence rather keenly during the afternoon. 

“I did not plan to be back,” replied Master Oakenshield, “but I found your absence during the afternoon rather unsettling.” Bilbo felt himself blush. Master Oakenshield smiled loopsidedly. “I was advised to apologise for the way I left and the unjust words I had spoken. You have been anything but prejudiced towards our race and I did you a disservice, for which I must apologise.” 

Bilbo found himself torn between amusement, at Master Oakenshield's awkwardness, and guilt, because he had indeed been prejudiced towards nomads. “I do not deserve your apology, as I have been prejudiced indeed. I did think ill of your race. I thought your kind capable of abandoning a child if they made themselves a burden, but I thought it would be out of hardship, and I never once thought ill of you or Mister Dwalin—.” 

Thorin shook his head. “Do not fret, Master Baggins—Bilbo, may I call you that?” 

Heart beating widly in his chest, Bilbo nodded. “You may. Er, Thorin.” 

Thorin smiled fleetingly. “Your prejudice was borne of ignorance, not ill-will.” 

“Nonetheless—.” 

“Please do not interrupt me, Bilbo, I must tell you something,” protested Thorin. Bilbo fell silent. “I must explain to you why I cannot be here when the wizard returns.” 

Bilbo felt his breath leave him in a rush at the mention of the nomads – of _Thorin_ – leaving. “Gandalf said he would return only in the spring . . . .” he tried. 

Thorin shook his head and began his tale, “When we lost our home an age ago, my sister asked me to take my nephews to safety—there were two of them, Fili and his younger brother, though we do not speak his name. My sister cannot bear it. Back then, there were goblins aiding the servant of the Enemy and, in the struggle, I lost one child in the Mountain.” Thorin's voice broke. “To this day, tis my greatest shame that I lost something so precious. My sister cannot look me in the eye, though she says I'm forgiven.” 

Bilbo put his hand on Thorin's and held on tight. 

“I cannot abide the thought of Fair Folk and your fellow Hobbitees thinking that we would do something like that deliberatedly, that I would – like my father – put my needs in front of my own kin. I would not! My family may be cursed, but I am no animal!” 

Something stirred in the back of Bilbo's mind, something horrifying and heart-breaking. He folded both his hands tightly in his lap and had to ask, because the alternative would be hiding from this terrible knowledge forever, and that would be a betrayal towards Thorin. “Your nephew, the one you lost—what was his name?” 

Thorin's hand twitched, as if protesting its release from Bilbo's grasp. “I haven't said his name in an age,” he said quietly. Bilbo waited. “It was—it was Kili.” 

Bilbo stiffled a gasp. “Kili?” 

Thorin nodded. “That is why I shan't listen to the wizard's plots. I cannot return to that place. My own home is now haunted with my greatest grief and shame. I must take care of the family I have left before anything else.” 

Bilbo thought this was rather Thorin's way of punishing himself, as if forbidding himself to return home would make him less guilty in his sister's eyes, but he could not say so when there were bigger things to worry about. Absently, as if trying to win some time to gather his thoughts, Bilbo asked, though he already suspected the answer, “The curse of your line?” 

“The witch-king of old Angmar wanted one of our treasures. When he failed to get it, he put a curse on the line of Durin, condemning us to succumb to our own bloodlust and cruelty. Evil creatures have been summoned by our very existence, tis why our home has been lost. But we have not fallen and we have become stronger for it. No magic can truly touch an heir of Durin. Balin is old and he still thrives. Dwalin will learn with his brother and I—well, they know what to do if I reveal myself to be as weak as my father and grandfather.” 

Faintly, Bilbo said. “I do not believe you could be weak, Thorin.” 

“I do not know, but the wizard will not give up. He worries about the return of the Enemy and he worries about me. It takes a special kind of power to resist a curse from a servant of the Enemy, or a special kind of wickedness.” 

Thorin left his seat and kneeled in front of Bilbo, clutching Bilbo's hands tightly. “He has reminded me that I should not stay here, or anywhere, for long. So I have come to say my goodbyes. We shall leave in the morning.” 

“So soon?” 

Thorin smiled sadly. “Yes. Tis why I came here tonight. I wish to leave you something of mine,” Thorin explained, reaching inside his pocket for something. It turned out to be a silver bead. “It is of my line and it should mark you as a Nomad friend. I shall leave it with you, as a reminder of our friendship.” 

Numbly, Bilbo accepted the gift. “Thank you.” 

Thorin kissed him once on the lips, so fleeting it hurt. “May Mahal's fires lit up your path, Bilbo Baggins.” 

**III. Fell Winter**

Bilbo spent the whole night tossing and turning in his bed, guilt eating away at him. 

What were the odds, though? That Thorin's lost nephew was also Bilbo's own child, lost and found almost three years ago in a city of men? Bilbo coould not deny the simillarities, though – that turn of lip both Kili and Thorin sported when they were sulking and their sense of orientation was so bad Bilbo genuinely worried about them; and the simillarities with Fili, too. 

Kili was perhaps too young to remember much from his time in Dale or the kingdom of Durin's nomads, but Bilbo knew some things had to have stayed with him, things that wouldn't make sense until he met the nomads of Ered Luin. It was perhaps fundamental for Kili to have a link to that part of himself. 

In the end, the choice was not a difficult one at all. 

Bilbo quickly packed a bag for himself and Kili: just a few clothes and toiletries, some toys for Kili, and the most precious books Bilbo owned. He hadn't had a need to for what felt like an age, but Bilbo was glad to realise he still knew how to pack light. It felt like fire had been kindled from the ashes of his heart and there was excitment bubbling up in his chest; he could almost hear the call of the Road and of adventures to be had. 

Bilbo ended up having to carry Kili most of the way, but it didn't matter. 

They settled on the side of the East Road just before dawn and waited for the nomads of Ered Luin.

And waited. 

And waited. 

By the time the sun started to set, Bilbo's high spirits had been crushed to the ground and he felt the absence of light very keenly. Kili had fallen asleep sometime in the afternoon, so it was a heavily-burdened Bilbo that took the long way home, knowing he must stop in Bywater Pool before he accepted that his own cowardice had cost him one last adventure. 

As he approached the lake, Bilbo's heart seemed to jump to his throat, because he could suddenly hear shouting, laughter, annoyed grumbles and there was someone singing a song about a man in the moon; there were fires lit up to ward off the chill and a cluster of tents organised around each fire. 

In the centre of the campsite, there was a familiar sillouette – two familiar sillouettes, in fact – so that was where Bilbo headed to, because he was very tired from the high emotions of the day and did not care if he revealed his feelings too soon or even if they were unwanted. He felt as if he had found the one thing for which he would forgo propriety. 

Thorin's eyes fell on him as soon as he stepped into the clearing. 

It seemed to take him a moment to understand what he was seeing, but then he glanced at Bilbo's baggage and the sleeping child in his arms. Something vulnerable and infinitely precious lit up in Thorin's eyes and he was quick to get to his feet, coming to stand very close to Bilbo. 

Somewhere behind Thorin, Mister Dwalin cursed and shouted obscenities to the other nomads in the clearing. Soon they were left alone. 

“Bilbo—,” Thorin started, reaching for Bilbo. He motioned to help Bilbo with his burdens, but Bilbo shook his head urgently when Thorin reached for Kili. There were a few things he needed to say first. He took a seat near the fire, keeping Kili carefully tucked away in his arms, and waited until Thorin did likewise. 

The fire in Thorin's eyes warmed Bilbo more than the one in the clearing. It convinced Bilbo this was the right thing to do. 

“My mother left my father when I was only a child to go adventuring,” he said. It seemed a good place to start, because Thorin settled somewhat, seemingly realising there was more to Bilbo than a Hobbitee who fancied himself in love with a nomad. “She never felt like Hobbiton was home, though she loved my father,” said Bilbo. “So she went looking for her place.” He smiled. “I take after her in that, I'm afraid.” He pulled Kili a bit closer. “We travelled far and wide, my mother and I, and she was never happy or settled, though she protected me fiercely. The only time I saw her truly happy was in the company of a wandering grey wizard.” 

“Gandalf,” said Thorin. 

Bilbo nodded. “My mother always saw further and better than most. Gandalf sent her to the Undying Lands when her time came, in the hopes they would see each other again some day. And I was left alone, wandering. I found a city of men. It was called Dale and it almost felt like mine, but not quite. I stayed for a while, then travelled south to Esgaroth, and that was when I found it. A babe from another race, the race of Durin's nomads. The men of Esgaroth cast him aside, though there was a child who called himself Bard who didn't.” 

Thorin had gone very still, his eyes on Kili, who was still sleeping in Bilbo's arms, clearly exhausted after having spent a full day waiting by the side of road. 

“I took this child and searched for his family during a whole fortnight, but I couldn't find them.” 

“We gave him up as lost inside the mountain and travelled away from Durin's last kingdom as fast as we could,” said Thorin, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I figured the Maker had sent me there to find him.” At the time, Bilbo had told himself he had found his purpose, his one true adventure, so he returned to Hobbiton, expecting to feel right and at home and he did, in some way: Kili seemed to be a perfect extension of him, but there was something missing. Sometimes, when Bilbo shouted at Kili, it felt like there should be a second name said before Kili's. “I asked him his name when he started to speak and he said it was, well, Kili.” 

Thorin made a wounded sound in his throat. Slowly, he moved closer to Bilbo, who shifted the blue cape he had draped over Kili's shoulders to let Thorin look at Kili's face. If there were tears in Thorin's eyes as he looked at his nephew, Bilbo saw no reason to mention it. When Thorin motioned to take Kili, Bilbo also saw no reason to deny him. “Kili,” Thorin whispered. 

“I didn't know how to tell you last night,” said Bilbo, “so I let you leave. I beg your forgiveness.” 

“You have raised him as your own for a long time,” replied Thorin, as if that explained everything and, in a way, Bilbo supposed it did. 

“I have waited all day for you at the East Road and I thought I had missed my chance . . . .” 

“We decided to leave by water,” explained Thorin absently, still looking reverently at Kili. 

Bilbo suddenly felt like he was intruding and motioned to leave, only to find his hand firmly clasped within Thorin's. “You were not going to give him up,” Thorin said and it wasn't a question. 

Bilbo shook his head. “I could not.” He hesitated. “So I thought perhaps it was time to go adventuring once more. Perhaps I would find my place. If you would have me.” 

Thorin nodded, eyes still on Bilbo; his fingers gently caressed Bilbo's, even though his smile was almost hidden by his beard. “We are nomads for a reason, Bilbo. There are things you must know—.” 

That was when a chilling howl echoed through Bywater Pool. 

Bilbo felt like his blood was freezing. In the distance, he could hear Hobbitees rousing and shouting for the Tháin. He turned towards Thorin, whose arms had closed instinctively around Kili, but who looked like he didn't understand. “Why didn't you leave by water, Thorin?” 

“The river is frozen, we could not set sail.” 

Bilbo gasped and turned his eyes North, knowing what was coming. 

“We need to run!” he exclaimed urgently. “Wake up, wake up!” he shouted at the tents and wagons. “We need to—.” 

“Bilbo!” shouted Thorin, reaching for him and stilling him with a touch. 

“Fell Winter, Thorin! The white wolves from the North cannot cross the water, but if the river is frozen . . . .” 

Awareness shone in Thorin's eyes and he seemed to become taller. “Nomads!” he called to the clearing. 

A few dozen men and women came rushing from their homes, some even in the process of getting dressed. Mister Dwalin appeared at Thorin's side, an old white-haired man with shrewd eyes at his side. Of the others, a woman was the first to step forward, her eyes so blue Bilbo knew whose sister she was right away. 

“There are wargs coming from the North, through the frozen river,” explained Thorin. The nomads started whispering amongst themselves, some reaching for their weapons. “The town's men and women don't know how to fight, but we do and we shall keep the beasts back! The Wolves of Durin shall lead the attack, though Dís shall remain with the children.” 

Thorin passed Kili to Dís, who thankfully didn't so much as take a look at the boy, before she handed him over to Fili and hurried both of them along towards the centre of the campsite. The other children were also being rounded up and shoved inside a wagon with much protest, along with a few pregnant women. A red-haired amazon locked the door and set up guard, with a few others. 

Thorin's sister took the front. And then her eyes suddenly glowed silver, as she started to shiver, her skirts tearing and falling apart as her own body vanished, leaving in its wake a man-sized (or rather woman-sized) wolf with grey fur. 

The other nomads didn't seem to think this was out of the ordinary, as if a woman hadn't just shifted her shape into that of a powerful beast in front of their eyes . . . . Something stirred in Bilbo's mind, a memory of grown men and women calling Beast to a Nomad child. Mentions of the curse of Durin – not a race, after all, but just one family. As if in answer, Thorin, Dwalin and the white-haired man also started to shift and Bilbo couldn't help but to look into Thorin's eyes as they changed, from their beautiful sky-blue colour into silver, and a massive wolf with black fur and tuffs of white took Thorin's place. 

The howls became louder. 

Bilbo watched horrified as Nomad men and women aimed their hammers and swords at the white wargs coming from the forest, slobbering in hunger, and the three powerful Wolves of Durin put themselves between the campsite and the wargs. 

It was Thorin who howled in return and launched the attack against the enemy. 

“Halfling!” called a man with a very peculiar hat, startling Bilbo out of his terrified stupor as he threw a sword at Bilbo's feet. “We found it in a troll's lair. Tis just 'bout yer size. Hold it pointed up and strike anything that comes for the babes.” 

Bilbo hoped it wouldn't come to that and it seemed unlikely with Dís around. 

(Bilbo still remembered how fiercely Belladonna had protected him during the First Fell Winter and how disappointed she had been with her fellow Hobbitees when they refused to brave the forest in search of lost children.) 

On the frozen lake, the Wolves of Durin fought the wargs, but Bilbo could not watch, because a white warg broke free from the group and started approaching the campsite. A few men and women aimed at him, while Dís and the others moved towards the children. Bilbo watched as more men and women were needed to control the warg. 

In the end, Bilbo was on guard alone with Dís, when he heard a growl from above. He looked up to see a black warg, purring in delight at what he perceived to be an easy prey. Dís was attentively watching the front of the wagon, so she didn't take notice as the black warg launched itself at her back. Bilbo only had time to lift his sword and then he was showered with warm blood. The black warg fell to the ground with a whimper, gutted; and Dís, now alerted to the threat, sliced its throat as the final blow. 

At the lake, the fight was also breaking apart. Many of the wargs lay dead on the ice and Mister Dwalin seemed to be favouring his left side. When Thorin dealt the final blow at the biggest of the white wargs, Dís howled in triumph and Mister Dwalin was quick to reply. 

Thorin lay on the ice for a few precious seconds, before he got up and howled at his pack. The four wolves, along with a few Nomad men and women rushed towards Hobbiton, while others stayed back and started the clean-up. The man with the funny hat headed towards Bilbo and handed him a silver flask. “For strength, lad.” 

Bilbo took a grateful sip. “Bilbo Baggins,” he belatedly introduced himself, in lieu of gratitude. 

“Bofur,” replied the nomad. “Now. Would ye help us get the children settled? It seems to me ye have a way with skittish beasts.” 

Bilbo was startled into laughter and, if he sounded a bit hysterical, well! So did Bofur. 

*** 

It was dawn by the time the Wolves of Durin returned to the campsite, all of them in their human shape and strange clothes. 

By then, Bilbo was sitting by the fire with both Fili and Kili tucked at his sides. The other children were being coddled by their families, so no one paid the three of them much attention – with the exception of Bofur, who had made sure they were comfortable before going to help his brother Bombur with breakfast. Both Fili and Kili seemed at peace next to each other, despite the fact they had just witnessed an attack of killer wolves; they were awake, but silent, just like many of the children and even Bilbo himself. 

The wargs were burning in a pire outside the campsite under the watchful look of the red-haired amazon, named Amna, and her husband Glóin. 

Of the four Wolves of Durin, Dís walked in the front, next to Thorin, and she was the first to see Bilbo with the children. Bilbo could tell the moment when she realised something was not quite right, because she froze all of a sudden, a hand going to her chest and another clasping Thorin in the arm. Thorin leaned down to tell her something and Bilbo could swear he heard her cry of hope, even from so far away. 

The Wolves of Durin rushed to the campsite. Coming forth, Dís kneeled down in front of Bilbo, her eyes on Kili. “Child,” she called gently, heartbreakingly, but could say no more as Kili lift his eyes towards her. A sob rose in her throat. “Oh, child,” she cried, petting his hair. Kili didn't seem to mind, though he looked at Bilbo for approval. Bilbo could do little more than nod encouragingly through his tears. Dís looked at Bilbo then. “You saved my life last night, Master Baggins, and now I find you have saved twice, one many years ago, though you did not know it. Even had you not my brother's heart, I would gladly call you my kin.” 

Bilbo sniffed and pulled the children a bit closer to him, as if in comfort. 

“That is,” said Mister Dwalin, “if the halfling doesn't mind being called kin by a pack of beasts.” 

Bilbo blinked at how shrewdly Mister Dwalin was looking at him. The white-haired man rolled his eyes and smacked Mister Dwalin in the arm. “Manners, brother!” he admonished, before smiling cheerfully at Bilbo. “Balin, at your service!” 

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours!” said Bilbo instinctively. Then, as if coming to himself, he said, “I think the beasts were killed by you last night. You have my gratitude.” That last bit was said to Thorin, who smiled at Bilbo with all the leisure of the rising sun. 

“Durin's Wolves, we must take care of our own before we can rest,” said Dís. 

To Bilbo, Thorin added, “Then we will talk.” He placed a warm hand against the side of Bilbo's face for a moment. 

Bilbo felt his cheeks heat. He confirmed, “Then we will talk.” 

**IV. There and Back Again**

The second Spring after his arrival in Hobbiton carrying a Nomad child, Bilbo Baggins left with a caravan of them. 

It was said he travelled far to the East, that he slaughtered a dragon and stole a treasure from the Enemy. That he dealt a killing blow against the witch-king of old Angmar. It was said he ran with the Wolves of Durin and carved himself a home deep into the rock of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. It was said he made deals with Fair Folk and married a king. No dared to ask. Not even when Bilbo returned thirteen years after the Second Fell Winter, in the day when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appeared in the sky together. He wore a wine-coloured cloak and carried no child. 

Fortinbras Took was no longer the Tháin, for he was weary after two Fell Winters and particularly of the Second, to which he lost a leg and an eye. It was he who welcomed Bilbo Baggins, friend of the nomads from Ered Luin, those who helped protect Hobbiton from Second Fell Winter. 

This time, Bilbo Baggins left with something just as precious as that with which he had arrived. When Bilbo Baggins left Hobbiton for the third and last time in his life, he carried a powerful ring in his pocket and – as repayment to a young woman who was lost far before her time – Bilbo also carried the boy who would some day carry the fate of Middle Earth all the way to Orodruin . . . but not without first driving the King Under the Mountain a bit crazy with his mischief-making.

**Author's Note:**

> also known as: the hobbit chocolat!werewolf!AU, god, what even


End file.
